


Don't Give Up On Me

by rubychan05



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Sherlock Being an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'John wonders what he’s done wrong. He’s been Sherlock’s partner for nearly three years now, and Sherlock has never given any sign of wanting to strike off on his own again. He’s a little bit hurt at the way he’s been so casually tossed aside, but he’s willing to let Sherlock do what he needs to do.'</p><p>Sherlock withdraws after John finally gets beyond a first date with a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Give Up On Me

It starts after John’s fourth date with Anne.

The evening’s a fantastic blur of wine, Thai and gateau, a few hours where John doesn’t need to worry about blood on his sweater, or sewerage in his shoes, or guns being trained on him. All he needs to think about is Anne’s beautiful smile and how he can keep it on him.

He walks her home afterwards. They kiss on the doorstep – she still tastes like strawberry, he notes, despite the Thai – and somehow end up stumbling up the stairs to her bedroom, laughing into each other’s mouths and tripping over their shed clothing.

A bloody brilliant night, overall.

John’s still buzzing when he gets back to 221B the next morning, knowing he’s got a stupid grin plastered all over his face but unable to get rid of it. He struts into the living room ready to gloat, bursting with happiness.

Sherlock isn’t there.

Sherlock doesn’t reappear until the morning after, staggering through the door with his scarf in tatters and his hair standing on end. John freezes with his toast halfway to his mouth, staring at Sherlock’s pale face and bloodshot eyes.

“Sherlock?”

The detective waves a hand dismissively, shrugging out of his coat and falling onto the sofa in a manner that is either intentionally dramatic or Sherlock’s knees giving out on him.

“It’s fine, John. I admit I look a state, but it’s nothing Mrs Hudson’s sewing machine can’t fix.”

John just gapes at him.

“You look half dead!” He exclaims, moving to examine Sherlock. Sherlock bats him away irritably, glaring half-heartedly at John’s attempts to fuss over him.

“It’s nothing. The kidnapper put up a bit more of a fight than I expected, that’s all.”  Sherlock sighs. John stops, frowning as Sherlock’s words sink in.

“You were out on a case? Alone? Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were busy.”

John blinks. Busy? What was he…oh.

“I would have come, you know. You could have just called…”

Sherlock shrugs, looking like he couldn’t particularly care less whether John was able to help or not.

“Is there any toast left?”

By now, John knows that what Sherlock really means is ‘make me toast’. He sighs, moving back into the kitchen and loading the toaster up with the last of the bread. He’ll buy some on the way to work – Sherlock certainly won’t.

“Just make sure you call me next time, alright?”

Sherlock grunts, a low noise that John takes for assent. Sherlock may be an idiot sometimes, but he’s no fool – he knows that he can’t take on everything by himself. He’ll definitely tell John next time.

Except he doesn’t.

Not next time. Nor the time after that. Or the time after that. John gets used to coming home to find the flat empty, a scribbled note lying on the counter. ‘Lestrade called’. ‘Out on case’. ‘Game afoot’. There are never any details, never any clues as to where he’s gone. Just vague reassurances that Sherlock hasn’t been kidnapped by any of the numerous criminals he’s angered.

John wonders what he’s done wrong. He’s been Sherlock’s partner for nearly three years now, and Sherlock has never given any sign of wanting to strike off on his own again. He’s a little bit hurt at the way he’s been so casually tossed aside, but he’s willing to let Sherlock do what he needs to do.

The final straw comes when Sherlock crashes in at three in the morning, shirt soaked with blood and throat purple with obvious finger marks. John snaps.

“Why?!” He yells, ripping Sherlock’s shirt off and wincing at the poorly bandaged knife wound underneath. He yanks his own sweater off before he can get blood on it and grabs the med-kit, gently peeling back the bandage to survey the damage. “Why won’t you just call me?”

Sherlock looks away, biting his lip stubbornly.

“You were with Anne.”

“So?”

“She’s your woman. She needs you more than I do.”

John blinks, pulling back so that he can look Sherlock properly in the face.

“What are you talking…oh. I…Sherlock, you idiot.”

Careful not to press against the stab wound, John impulsively pulls Sherlock into a hug. The detective freezes, before cautiously returning it, hands strangely uncertain as they rest against John’s back.

“Whatever happens with Anne,” John whispers, holding Sherlock close, “I’m still going to be here. Mates stick together right?”

Sherlock says nothing, but the sudden relaxing of his shoulders says everything he needs to anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a quick write challenge, in less than 30 minutes. Apologies for any flaws that occurred because of that!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr under [rubychan05](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com/).


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